


the one look you don't wear well

by Wheat From Chaff (wheatfromchaff)



Series: everybody works [3]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games), Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Atlas CEO Rhys, Jealousy, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn, the slowest burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-09 19:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11110989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheatfromchaff/pseuds/Wheat%20From%20Chaff
Summary: “This is why I don’t like my subordinates developing these kinds of relationships with each other. It’s bad for business,” Rhys said.“What,” Tim said, very calm, “the hell are you talking about?”OR: Tim makes a new friend at Atlas and Rhys is Not Pleased.





	the one look you don't wear well

Tim had his routines, of course. Spend enough time in a military company, and eventually everything gets turned into a routine. Leave him to his coping mechanisms.

His morning routine was pretty straight forward. Wake up at 5:30am. Go for a run, return home by 6:30am. Shower, change, and wait on the curb in front of his building for his hired car by 7am. Stop at King’s Café and Bistro to pick up that morning’s coffee and breakfast order, which should be waiting for him on the counter. Arrive at the office by 7:20am, 7:30am if the traffic was bad. Ride the private elevator up the 78 floors to arrive in Rhys’ office by 7:32am at the very latest. He’s never been later than 7:35am.

Tim didn’t realise how accustomed he was to this until the first time something went wrong with it. Ten months and twenty-two days after he began working for Rhys as his bodyguard slash personal assistant slash butler slash professional bitch, Tim arrived in the shiny, polished lobby to find the private elevator he used to get to Rhys’ office was no longer private. He stared, perplexed, at the empty spot where a plaque had once stood, a declaration of service the elevator no longer had.

Someone sidled up beside him. “Oh, they opened that one.”

“Did they change the elevator?” Maybe it took Tim a little while for his brain to start working in the mornings. He usually took his first sip of coffee in the elevator, that excellent Italian espresso (black, one sugar) that breathed life back into his synapses.

“Looks like,” the stranger said, more enthusiastically than such an obvious question deserved. “It’s all that renovation in the other wing. A bunch of us had to move offices. I guess the boss’ private elevator’s been requisitioned to deal with all the new traffic.”

Tim understood the language, but he struggled to put together the meaning. Maybe he should’ve started drinking his coffee right then and there.

But that cheerful tone, more than anything, knocked a few brain cells awake. Tim was used to snide. He was used to everyone in Atlas knowing everything there was to know. He was used to being pitied for even asking. That brand of shark-like camaraderie, bright smiles with lips painted a tasteful rose and a knife hidden in their $4,000 Gucci handbag.

The woman who’d come up to him was short, dressed in a flowing knee-length floral-print skirt and a bright blue ruffled button-up. Every article of clothing looked as if she’d bought it off the rack. Of a department store. At least two years ago.

“Are you new?” The question sounded harsher than he intended it to.

The elevator dinged its arrival and the strange woman laughed. “Nope. But I guess you don’t get a chance to meet anyone not in the c-suite, do you?” She stepped inside—kitten heels, dusty pink with a buckle, no brand Tim recognized, maybe from Payless?—turned around and smiled. “Going up, Mr. Lawrence?” she asked.

She had a nice voice, he realised. She had a mole just off the corner of her lips. A beauty spot. He followed her.

* * *

_When was the last time you met someone new?_

Janey wouldn’t let up. Since he’d spent an entire work day playing nurse maid for his ill boss, she’d been relentless. She sent him texts almost once a day, regular as clockwork, asking if Tim was interested in people she worked with, people she knew, strangers on the street.

_How about this one? He works out at my gym._

_Isn’t she cute? She teaches grade five at Pickle’s school._

_This is my friend, Marco. He’s single!_

“You need to call your wife off,” Tim said during one of his security briefings. His phone had buzzed with his daily selection of Hot Local Singles in His Area (courtesy of Janey Springs) right as they were wrapping up.

Athena didn’t even look up from her work. “She’s worried about you.”

“Why? There’s nothing—“ Tim’s phone chimed, the words ‘Rhys, Your Personal Saviour' appearing on the screen.

 _Lunch in five. I know you and Athena are finished. Meet me in the lobby, we have resos at La Fou’s_.

Huh. Already? Tim wasn’t exactly plugged into the local restaurant scene, but he dimly recalled hearing La Fou’s was the new hot joint from that Michelin-starred chef. All the visiting celebs took time out of their shooting schedule to eat and be seen. He supposed it was Rhys’ turn.

“Is that our boss?” Athena asked, giving him a hard look.

And Rhys wanted to bring him. It could’ve been a business meeting. It almost certainly was a business meeting. Nothing to get worked up over.

“Call off your wife. She’s got no reason to worry about me,” Tim said. His phone chimed again.

_Quit stalling I’m hungry! >:[_

* * *

It had been a business meeting, and the reservation at the hottest restaurant in town had been nothing more than a power move, but Rhys had lingered after they wrapped up and their guests had left.

And he made Tim stay with him.

They had a pile of work waiting for them back at the office, new angles to iron out in a still-developing deal, on top of the usual demands from every department head in Atlas, but that didn’t matter. Because Rhys wanted to see the dessert tray. He wanted to try a little of everything. And he wanted Tim to share it with him.

Tim complained, pointed out everything they had to do in a voice that was probably too loud, too rude, distinctive in listing out everything they had waiting for them with pointed accuracy, until Rhys jammed a spoonful of chai-spiced crème brûlée into his mouth.

“Work can wait,” Rhys had told him, even though it really couldn’t. “I think I’ve created a monster in you. You need to relax a little, Tim.” He tapped Tim on the nose with the broad end of his spoon.

“Says the guy who comes into the office at four in the morning,” Tim grumbled. He pulled the crème brûlée close and took another bite, ignoring the smug look Rhys shot his way.

Tim was lying to Janey, and to Athena. Of course everything wasn’t alright. It hadn’t been for weeks, maybe longer. But that was his problem, and not her business. He had it under control.

* * *

Pretty elevator girl was there the next morning. Tim felt a little skip in his heart at the sight of her pink-lipped smile.

“How come I’ve never seen you before?” Tim asked.

“I told you. I used to take the east wing elevators, but my office has been undergoing renovations, so the whole department’s been moved to the central tower,” she said. “It’s a little rough, because we have to share with one of the financial offices.”

“Yikes. Sounds like things get hectic down there,” he said. She smiled at him. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just... ‘Down there’? I’m on the 60th floor. This is the highest office I’ve ever gotten.”

Tim felt his face grow a little warm. “Oh.”

“Although, I suppose compared to you, we are a little ways down.”

“The big boss likes the corner office in the sky,” Tim said, resigned. “Easier to look down on the peons. That’s what he says, anyway,” he said quickly when her brows furrowed.

“It must be strange, but kind of nice up there,” she said, a little wistfully.

“You’re half right,” Tim said. His vertigo had been hell in a handbasket when he first started. He’d had his desk moved closer to the door, as far from the massive windows that flanked Rhys’ desk as he could get. It’d gotten a little easier, lately. He’d gotten a little more accustomed to the view. He could stand at Rhys’ side without taking Dramamine first.

She laughed at him. Tim found he didn’t mind. He kind of liked her laugh.

* * *

She was there the next day, and the one after that. They never had long to talk, but Tim always enjoyed it.

“What smells so good?” she asked him on the fourth day, jutting her chin towards the white paper bag he held in one hand.

“Breakfast,” he said.

“You want to get a little more specific for me?” she asked.

“It’s Thursday, so we’ve got a spinach, tomato and gruyere croissant with a vanilla bean blueberry muffin for dessert.”

“Smells amazing.”

“Baked only a few hours ago,” Tim said confidently. Rhys could always tell when they weren’t, and he always raised hell.

“Do you get anything?” she asked. The elevator slowed at the 55th floor.

“What makes you think this isn’t for me?” Tim asked. Her smile became a little more knowing.

“Everyone knows what you do,” she said. The elevator chimed as it arrived, before Tim could ask exactly what it was that everyone knew.

* * *

Rhys slumped down in his black leather and gold plated alloy throne. He let out a long sigh, a wordless plea to an uncaring universe.

“I give so much,” he said. “I give and I give and I give, and what does this company give me in return?”

Tim entered the latest numbers from finances, scanning them carefully for discrepancies.

“This company is like my child. It’s my baby,” Rhys went on. “But it’s also an evil baby. A vampire, sucking the life and energy out of me.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’ve got a real way with words?” A notification popped up in front of the many screens that populated Tim’s desk, pushing the others aside. An email from some jumped up department lackey with an inflated sense of her own importance. Tim scowled and flicked it aside.

“I’m hungry,” Rhys whined.

Tim waved his hand, sending all his screens cascading to the corner of his desk, where they sat in a glowing stack.

“What are you in the mood for today, boss?” he asked as he peeled off his skin-thin ECHOgloves.

“I don’t know.” Rhys scrubbed at his face. “We had Thai yesterday, right?”

“That was two days ago. You tried Yellow Curry for the first time. We had breakfast for lunch yesterday.” Tim rounded Rhys’ desk. “You wanted chocolate-espresso waffles.”

Rhys rubbed at his temple. “Oh right. That was a great idea.”

“A real stroke of inspiration.” Tim leaned his hip against the corner of the desk. Rhys turned his chair, tipped it back until he could look Tim in the face. “Are you in the mood for something East Asian? We could do Korean.”

Rhys frowned. “No, I’m not in the mood for that.”

“Japanese?” Tim asked. Rhys shook his head. “Indian? South Indian?”

“What’s the difference?”

“South Indian has dosas,” Tim said.

“Oh. No, not that.”

Tim tipped his head towards the ceiling and gave the matter some consideration. “Mexican? Peruvian? Russian? We could get blintzes. Mediterranean? You like falafel. We could order from one of those horrible raw food places you pretend to like.”

“Those places are really good,” Rhys argued. Tim gave him a look. It was one of his favourites, and it always made Rhys scowl. “Fine, then. I’m not really in the mood for a Buddha Bowl anyway.”

Tim nudged his leg with his shoe. “What are you in the mood for, boss?”

Rhys rubbed his head again, a sure-fire sign that he was getting a headache. Screen fatigue, no doubt. Tim would have to keep an eye on it. Rhys got insufferably pathetic when he was in any kind of pain.

“I don’t know.” Rhys sat back with a sigh. “What do you want to eat?”

Tim stared at Rhys.

“What?” Rhys asked.

“You have never,” Tim said, “in the three hundred plus days I have worked for you, _ever_ asked what I want to get for lunch.”

Rhys was a trained CEO. That silver spoon he’d been born with had come with certain caveats, and the biggest one was how he had to conduct himself. The way he could turn on the charm like a faucet, the way he could stare down people twice his size, three times as armed as him, like it was nothing. Like nothing could touch him. Like it cost him nothing to be made of ice. It made Tim uneasy the first time he witnessed it. He couldn’t help but respect his boss, just a little. He’d gotten used to it, since.

But Rhys could still surprise him. All that CEO coating chipping away the longer he spent in Rhys’ presence. His boss looked away, his baby prince cheeks turning pale peony pink.

“Well, congratulations,” he said. “After all this time, you’ve finally got the important responsibility of deciding what we’ll eat in the next hour.” He turned away from Tim, called up a few more screens from wherever they’d been hibernating.

“And I _do_ expect food within the next hour,” Rhys added as Tim padded over to his desk. “And it had better be good!”

* * *

While it was true that Tim had never before been given the chance to decide what they eat, he realised that he was often the person who made the suggestions. On that first week, when he proposed Mexican food to Rhys, Rhys had stared out the window and told him that would be fine.

It was only after their burritos arrived, when Rhys handled his yam-bean burrito like a stick of dynamite, that Tim realised he’d never had such a thing before.

When he called him out on it, Rhys didn’t deny it.

“My mother had a pretty bland pallet. I grew up eating mostly just roasts and fish,” he admitted. “Back in university, Vaughn and I would sometimes go out for fried chicken and fast food burgers.”

“Fast food? That was your idea of being daring? I always thought rich people ate fancier stuff than that,” Tim said, picking up fallen lettuce from his wrapper. Rhys shrugged.

Rhys tried a lot of new things for the first time, because of Tim’s suggestions. Falafel pitas, bibimbap, western-style Chinese food, actual dim sum, tacos from a truck rather than a Taco Bell, Indian curries, West Indian roti, Chicago-style pizza,  pad thai, nasi lemak (with tofu and veggie sambal for Rhys), on and on. Tim began to feel a bit like the tramp dog in that cartoon movie. He had never actually seen it, but he could recall a famous scene of the rough dog introducing the fancy dog to spaghetti.

After giving it some thought, Tim decided he was in the mood for ramen. Their order arrived within the hour, the deliver person’s enthusiasm fuelled by the promise of a $50 tip. Rhys sniffed his bowl, his expression unreadable as he held his chopsticks above the steaming broth.

“You brought us a noodle soup?” Rhys asked.

“You should know better than that by now,” Tim said, pulling his chopsticks apart.

“I’m just saying, I saw a dozen kids in university eating this stuff out of a cup. They microwaved it.”

Tim’s legs were just long enough to reach Rhys’ under the desk. He took advantage of that height and kicked his toes lightly against Rhys’ calf.

“Give me some credit. This place has got the best mushroom broth in the city. I looked it up just for you, my liege. Just try it,” he said.

Rhys, of course, loved it. Tim hoped he would never have to explain just why that made him feel so satisfied.

* * *

By the second week, Tim began to feel guilty that he didn’t know his elevator buddy’s name.

“I can’t just keep thinking of you as ‘pretty elevator girl’,” he said. He’d practised that line in his head a few times. He was relieved he was able to deliver it successfully, without sounding like a creep.

She grinned at him, even as her face changed colour from brown to red. “I guess I do have you at a disadvantage,” she said.

“Everyone knows my name,” he agreed.

“Poor baby,” she teased. “Must be so hard, being so handsome and famous.”

Tim knew he was grinning like a fool. “Well, you’re half right. I don’t really consider myself famous, though.”

She raised a brow. “You won’t argue ‘handsome’?”

“You didn’t argue ‘pretty’,” he said. She laughed again.

The elevator had begun to slow. Tim glanced at the ascending numbers, biting his lip.

“At least tell me what department you’re in,” he said.

The elevator chimed, pulling to a smooth stop. She patted his arm, just once.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” she said as she walked out. Tim nodded, maybe a little disappointed but hopefully not too obvious about it. She turned suddenly and gave him a wink.

“My name is Tamara,” she said, and the doors slid shut.

* * *

“Thank god you’re here, I’ve been waiting forever.”

Rhys was already on his feet, pacing behind his desk, by the time Tim arrived, less than 30 seconds later. He’d shed his jacket, had ditched his tie. Even clad in a charcoal grey vest and slacks with dove grey pinstripes, all of which no doubt cost more than Tim’s monthly paycheque, he looked rough. He’d pushed his sleeves up to his elbows instead of rolling them (Tim winced—that would need ironing), and his lavender pocket square looked as if it’d been pulled out and roughly pushed back in. At least it wasn’t what he’d been wearing last night.

“You look bad, boss,” Tim said. He set down their breakfast on his desk and got to work unpacking. “How long have you been here? Don’t tell me you had an early-morning meeting with the Japanese branch.”

“No, no, I would’ve called you in if I had,” Rhys said absently. “It’s the latest product reports from our QA division. You know the H76? The new leg prototype, with the built-in AI that should allow for artificial limb installation without the brain surgery? Well, there were some issues with the code and apparently the damn things malfunction when…”

Tim hummed along, like it was a song he knew quite well. He tried to stay abreast of Atlas’ business, but no matter how hard he tried, the jargon just merged together like a buzzing sound in his ears. Rhys knew it but that didn’t stop him from ranting. Sometimes Tim suspected his boss just needed a talk a problem through more than he needed someone to actually give feedback.

Tim paused him mid-circuit, took his left hand in his and placed his reusable coffee thermos in his palm.

“Take it easy, boss,” he said, patting Rhys on the arm. “You’ll work it out.”

“You can just say that and it’ll happen,” Rhys said sourly. “You don’t have to do the actual work and babysitting that’ll get us there…” He brought the mug to his face and breathed deep. “Oh baby, I’ve been thinking about you all morning.”

“You’re making my heart pound.” Tim unwrapped the morning’s breakfast sandwich—egg, mico-greens, heirloom tomato, and goat cheese on sprouted grain toast—and set it on a plate. He arranged the kale salad beside it, putting his experience as a line order cook to use to plate it just so.

When he looked up, Rhys was staring at him.

“You look happy.” He made it sound like an accusation.

“I do?”

“You’ve looked happy every morning the last few days.” Rhys frowned.

Tim laughed, even as his heart truly began to pound. With guilt. Fucking guilt. Like he had anything to be guilty over.

“Must be the absolute pleasure I get just from starting a new day with you,” Tim said, playing it cool. He set down Rhys’ breakfast, aware of his boss’ unblinking stare fixed on the back of his neck.

He hadn’t done anything wrong. Rhys was his employer. Their relationship might get personal now and again, but that didn’t mean Tim got to mistake it for true intimacy.

“There’s something different,” Rhys said.

Tim laughed again because this should’ve been funny. Getting grilled by his boss, like Rhys was his husband, getting suspicious over a bit of lipstick on his collar. A whiff of unfamiliar cologne in his clothes. But there was no humour in Rhys’ face. Tim wasn’t sure what he could see there.

“You need to relax, Rhys.” Tim clapped him lightly on the shoulder, a show of camaraderie. Platonic and safe. “You’re all worked up over this leg thing. Just have some coffee, eat your breakfast, and you’ll feel better.”

Rhys looked him hard in the face, and Tim didn’t squirm. He didn’t flush. He had nothing to feel guilty over. He just looked back. Rhys broke first.

“Right,” he said and took a drink.

* * *

As it turned out, Tim would have to miss his next elevator date. He received a text from Rhys before he left the building for the night that he would have to come in early. Standing a mile below his boss’ office, Tim scowled at his phone and hit the call button.

“Why?” he demanded as soon as Rhys picked up.

“Japanese investors are panicking about the leg thing. It’ll be you, me, and Simmons from R&D.”

“The leg? How’d they hear about the leg?” Tim demanded.

“Believe me, I intend to find out. In the meantime, we have some fires to put out. I’ll see you tomorrow bright and early, Tim.”

“Yeah.” Tim sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Don’t stay up too late, boss.”

Rhys grunted, an indication that he’d stopped listening, and ended the call.

Tim sighed again, the exhale escaping his mouth in a long twist of vapour. Spring was coming, slowly but surely, but the nights could still get cold and the sunset still came sooner than Tim wanted. Rhys would spend the night, almost certainly. He stared up at the Atlas building, at the gridwork of light that touched the black sky, and actually wondered, for almost an entire minute, if he should go back.

Stupid, he told himself. Dangerous. Go home, Tim.

Tim returned the next morning, before the sun had begun its slow crawl from the eastern horizon, with a meter tall plastic cup filled with green sludge and a paper bag clutched in one hand. The lobby was empty, save for the security guard that checked his badge. The elevator ride felt a little lonely.

Rhys was in already, naturally. Tim could count on one hand the number of times he’d been the first to arrive. Rhys practically lived in his office. If Tim hadn’t personally been to his apartment several times already, he might’ve suspected Rhys actually did live here.

Rhys looked up from the fortress of violet and blue screens he’d built for himself. “I need to find that report, the one from Tannis, where she talked about the honey bee system, how it relates to the way AI communicate like bees using scent pheromones.”

“Good morning, Rhys.” Tim set the cup and bag in front of his boss. “That’s from the last three weeks. Did you check the file?” He sighed at Rhys’ blank look. “Remember? I set you up with a new filing system so you could stop harassing me every time you need something? Organized by date? Subfolders organized by department?” Rhys’ brow furrowed. Tim closed his eyes before he could roll them. “Never mind. I’ll get it.”

“Good. What’s this?”

“Green Goddess smoothie and gluten-free coconut energy bites,” Tim replied as he slipped on his ECHOgloves.

“How did you know I didn’t have breakfast?” Rhys asked as he opened the bag.

This time, Tim did roll his eyes. “Give me some credit, boss. Here, I found your damn file. See how quick that was? See how good this system is?”

Rhys didn’t bother with a response. He sucked that matcha-spiked smoothie through his reusable straw, staring at his screen the way a lion might stare at a gazelle across the veldt. There were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes (well, one was bloodshot—the other was gold, always pure gold), and his skin looked pale and shiny, and not in an attractive way. His grey and lemon suit looked clean and pressed, at least, although the collar sat askew. Tim didn’t sigh, because if he started, he wouldn’t stop.

“Tell me you didn’t spend the night here.” He crossed the office, walking without a second thought where many people in the company would fear to tread. Right behind the boss’ big desk, where only a handful of people ever did.

Rhys made no sign at all that he’d heard Tim. He tapped to a new screen.

“Boss.” Tim took his chair by its arm, and turned him from his screens. Rhys made a noise like a disgruntled cat that’d been woken up from its nap, but he didn’t try to fight Tim. Tim smoothed down his collar. “How bad is it?” he asked.

“I don’t know yet,” Rhys admitted as Tim opened the make-up drawer. “It’s sort of hard to read tone over email, especially when English isn’t their first language.”

Tim squeezed a small amount of bb cream onto a conical sponge. He took Rhys’ chin in one hand, tilted his head up and began applying. “When is Simmons getting here?” he asked, focusing his work on the underside of Rhys’ eyes.

Rhys’ eyes drifted shut. “Soon. I told her to be in by six or it was her ass.” He smiled weakly, a movement Tim could feel in the cup of his hand. “First time she’s had direct communication with the CEO. I thought she’d have a heart attack.”

“I’ll never understand why anyone finds you frightening.” Tim plucked a compact from the drawer. Rhys’ smile grew.

“Didn’t anyone tell you, Tim? I’ve got a heart of ice and a spine of steel. Or vice versa.”

“You’re the biggest dweeb I ever had the misfortune of meeting,” Tim said as he applied a powder coat in an attempt to temper the shine on Rhys’ face. “Who doesn’t know how to apply their own make-up?”

“I don’t need to know. I’ve got you,” Rhys said smugly. Tim patted him hard on the nose, sending up a cloud of white powder. Rhys squawked.

“Alright.” Tim brushed off Rhys’ shoulders. “Whatever it is they’ve heard, it’s nothing. I’ve seen you bluff your way out of lousier hands than this. We’re titans here, remember?” He pushed a stray curl back from Rhys’ forehead. “You’ve got this, boss.”

Rhys stared at him, his throat working in a swallow. There was something strange in his expression, something off in the way he looked at Tim. Like he was trying to remember something he’d been meaning to tell Tim. Something that’d been on his mind. He licked his lips, opened his mouth and said, “Lip gloss.”

“Hm?” Tim blinked. Rhys looked up at him, one eyebrow cocked.

“You forgot the lip gloss,” he said. Tim gave into temptation and rolled his eyes at last. “You can’t expect me to face my precious investors looking like I chewed my lips off last night. Or had them chewed off for me,” he said with a grin while Tim pulled out his tube of Chanel tinted gloss.

“Yeah, right. When was the last time you went on a date?” Tim asked as he tipped Rhys’ head back once again.

“I don’t know. Recently. I haven’t had time,” Rhys said while Tim carefully applied the finishing touches.

“Those are three different answers. And stop talking, I’m trying to work,” he said. Rhys shut his mouth while Tim finished. “I feel bad for anyone who tries to date you.” Tim capped the gloss.

Rhys pouted, which looked better than usual. “I’m a catch,” he said.

“You’re a walking cliché,” Tim said, closing the drawer. “Married to the job.”

* * *

When was the last time _you_ dated, Timmy?

Rhys was prepared, coiffed and polished back to his usual standards, and once more buried in his reports. He didn’t write much down, much to Tim’s annoyance, but he always seemed to remember what he needed to. Or at least a sketch of it. Rhys had told him it was a left-over skill from his university days.

It meant that Tim had a quiet moment to himself before the meeting was scheduled to begin. Despite all of his complaining, Tim didn’t really enjoy having quiet moments to himself. His mind tended to fill it with unpleasant chatter.

Right now he felt fixated on Janey’s texts. He scrolled through the last few days’ worth, reading her one-line descriptions of strangers, and wondered.

One of them could be the person for him. The guy or gal of his dreams. His mind filled in the blanks of their backstory, wrote entire histories based on the five or so words Janey gave him.

The cute boy with long hair at her gym could’ve been in a band. He could’ve lived the party lifestyle before the life got too hard, took too many of his friends, driving him to turn clean.

The pretty girl who always wore sundresses at Davis Pickle’s school could be a vet, like him. She might’ve had scars that she used to feel self-conscious about until a friend of hers designed a tattoo for her to cover them up.

The handsome guy who brought the sensible Hyundai to Janey’s garage could’ve had a kid way too young, but he did the right thing and stuck by the mother and the newborn and worked his ass off to get where he was. Maybe things had gone sour between the parents, but maybe they could still part amicably. Or maybe they never parted. None of these people had to be single, just ‘cause Janey wanted them to be.

Any one of them could be good for Tim. Like Tamara from the elevator.

They could arrive at work together every day, and maybe even leave together, should Tim ever get out of Rhys’ office at a decent time. Maybe if he had someone to meet with, he’d find an excuse to leave earlier. Maybe if he had someone else in his life, he could care less about this job.

 _You’ve gone stagnant_ , Janey told him. _It’s like you’re putting your life on hold. It can’t last forever_.

An alarm chimed on Tim’s desktop, informing him that an authorized Atlas personnel had arrived in the lobby outside the office. Todd’s desk was empty, Todd himself not coming in for another 3 hours or so, which meant playing greeter was one of Tim’s responsibilities.

“That’s probably Dr. Simmons,” Rhys said as Tim stood. “Put the fear of god into her, would you? I need her on edge and ready to cower.”

“I wouldn’t know how,” Tim lied as he pushed open the heavy vault-like door that separated Rhys from the rest of the world. “Dr. Simmons?”

“Oh!” Dr. Tamara Simmons flinched to her feet from where she’d perched on the edge of a leather couch. A look of surprised flashed briefly over her face. “I didn’t think you’d be here so early.”

“Uh.” Tim knew he was staring. He thought briefly about telling her he’d guessed what department she’d worked in after all, but it didn’t seem appropriate.

“Tim!” Rhys’ voice snapped Tim back to his life, to the job he was supposed to be doing. “Is that her or isn’t it? I have questions that need answers and she’d better have brought all of her reports.”

Tamara’s eyes widened as Tim ushered her inside.

“I did bring them,” she whispered to him. He gave her a sympathetic look.

* * *

There wasn’t much time to talk after that. Rhys grilled Dr. Simmons for the few minutes they had before the call, and Tim knew better than to try to interrupt. He retreated to his desk and pretended to work while she and Rhys spoke. As if he couldn’t hear what they were saying.

It wasn’t pleasant. Rhys wasn’t out and out verbally abusive—he wasn’t that sort of boss to anyone except for Tim—but he wasn’t kind, and he didn’t sugarcoat.

“Have you found the source of the leak?” he asked after spending two minutes outlining just how bad this fuck-up was, and how much it could cost her department.

“We think it likely happened during our department’s move. Our files were moved securely over the company’s intranet, but the physical backup drives might’ve gotten compromised. None are actually _missing_ , but the culprit might’ve had enough time to copy the contents and replace the drive before anyone of us noticed—“

“Have you. Found. The culprit?” Rhys asked.

“Not yet,” she replied. Her voice shook a little. She knew it was the wrong answer.

Rhys didn’t immediately reply. Tim risked a glance and saw his boss’ face had gone placid, that notorious calm before the storm.

“Not yet." Rhys never shouted. Tim had sat through countless meetings like this, and not once had Rhys raised his voice. Heart of ice, indeed. “When?”

“I promise, I’m doing everything in my power—“ she nearly tripped over her words. Tim winced.

“Never mind.” It was worse than shouting. Rhys snapped the words off with enough malice to fill the room. He sat up in his chair, called the video conference screens up to the fore. One facing him, one facing her. “Do you think you’re ready?” He sounded so condescending, Tim almost wanted to hit him.

Dr. Simmons nodded. Defeat hung over her like a shroud.

“Tim. We’re starting soon,” Rhys said, turning from her.

Tim stood and crossed the room. He gave Dr. Simmons a brief smile before he took his usual post. When he turned to his boss, he found Rhys watching him closely, his expression unchanged. Not unlike he’d looked yesterday morning, when he’d tried to interrogate Tim. Like he’d caught him at something.

Tim looked back, his face empty. “Ready when you are, boss,” he said.

* * *

The meeting was brutal.

Dr. Simmons did her best, but it was obvious Rhys had brought her in as the sacrificial lamb. The worst part was the look on her face when he started laying the blame at her feet, prodding her to take full responsibility. Like she didn’t see it coming.

“It was my department,” she said, voice shaking. “I accept full responsibility.”

Tim wanted to reach out. He wanted to tell her it was fine, this happened all the time, or so it seemed to him. Rhys always pulled them back from the brink. It was his job. This was just a show trial.

But she wouldn’t look at him and in the end, Tim didn’t say a word.

“That’s very commendable of you, Dr. Simmons, but I’m afraid you are incorrect. The responsibility is my own.”

Dr. Simmons’ expression flinched. You wouldn’t have seen it unless you were looking for it, and Tim had been.

“We here at Atlas are a team, and as a team, we intend to find out the culprit responsible for this piece of corporate espionage,” Rhys said, smooth as shaved silk. “The good news, however, is thanks to the tireless efforts of Dr. Simmons and her team, that little piece of malfunctioning software has been repaired as of yesterday afternoon. Which means that our enemies are in possession of old, out-dated intel.” Rhys’ smile was like the sun over the tundra, bright and blinding. “Which is the best kind of intel for them to have.”

The Japanese investors agreed, but Rhys wasn’t done. He poured on the sugar, the glossy caramel coating, spinning them a new truth as easy as if he were born to do it. He painted them a new future, a brighter one, all corporate shine and promise.

Dr. Simmons watched him weave with an astonished expression. She looked uncertain as to what she should do, what she should say. She kept clasping her hands in front of her and then dropping them to her sides. Rhys hadn’t even offered her a seat; a cruel little twist of the knife.

Rhys ended the call with a smile and a promise of better days. Everyone on the other end seemed to buy both as honest. Tim had spent too long in this job to be impressed or fooled.

Rhys let out a soft sigh and sank back into the butter soft leather of his chair. “That went pretty good, all things considered,” he said, swivelling a little to look at Tim.

“Fire’s out,” Tim agreed. He cast a glance to Dr. Simmons, and gave her an encouraging smile. “You held up really well.”

“Thanks.” She managed a small smile in return.

“Why are you still here?” Rhys asked without turning. “Don’t you have a leak to plug? Get out of my office and get to work.” He barely even raised his voice.

Tim gave her a sympathetic grimace as he stepped forward.

“Where are you going?” Rhys asked. Tim paused mid-step.

“I was just going to show your guest back to her office,” Tim said.

“She can find her own way. I’ve got work for you to do, Tim.”

Tim startled. No matter how tense the meetings got, he’d never been called back like this. He stood, caught halfway between his post and the door, half-way between telling Rhys to fuck off and respecting his boss in front of one of Atlas’ employees.

Professionalism won out, although it was a close thing. “It’s fine, boss,” Tim said, reasonable and calm. “It won’t take a minute.”

“This isn’t a discussion, Lawrence.” It was like being slapped. Rhys called up his usual phalanx of screens. “Dr. Simmons, I expect an answer by the end of the week or your replacement can do it for you.”

Tim stared at Rhys while blood pounded in his ears.

 _Lawrence_. Rhys hadn’t called him that in months. He didn’t know why it made him angry to hear it now, when it hadn’t bothered him before.

When Tim finally looked around, ready to guide Tamara out of there and to hell with Rhys, he found that he’d missed his chance. Dr. Simmons had already left.

“Stop glaring at me,” Rhys said. “It’s not my fault your little elevator buddy was responsible for this snafu.”

Tim felt it all at once, his muscles tensing with a familiar fight or flight response. But it didn’t make sense. There was nothing to run from here.

“Right.” Tim forced himself to relax. “Did you look through the security footage yourself or did you make Todd do it?”

“Todd did it.” Rhys finally looked up from his screens. “Do you have anything you’d like to say to me?”

“A few things come to mind,” Tim said.

Rhys rubbed his head. The sun had begun to crest over the city’s blocked horizon, rays streaming through tall buildings and into the streets far below. Rhys’ south-facing window caught the best of the golden light without the glare. That flattering dawn light touched his soft face, brought out all the hard work Tim had done only an hour before. It did Rhys some good. Normally, it would do Tim some good too, but he didn’t want to think about his boss in that light.

“This is why I don’t like my subordinates developing these kinds of relationships with each other. It’s bad for business,” Rhys said.

“What,” Tim said, very calm, “the hell are you talking about?”

“You.” Rhys waved his stylus at Tim. “Look at how worked up you are. Dr. Simmons is just another employee to me, but to you she’s…” He waved his hand again, a vague gesture Tim didn’t pretend to follow. “And now it’s affected your job. You tried to argue with me, in front of one of my employees.”

Tim didn’t know if he should laugh. It was a difficult urge to fight. “That? When I said it wouldn’t take a fucking minute to do my usual job? That wasn’t a _fight_ , Rhys.” He stalked over to Rhys’ desk as he talked. “Although if you want to know what one looks like, keep this up.”

“Don’t threaten me,” Rhys snapped, jabbing his stylus in Tim’s direction. “I am their CEO, and I am your _boss_. What I tell you, you do. And I am telling you right now that you cannot pursue a relationship with her.”

“Oh my god.” Tim buried his face in his hands. “I barely knew her _name_ , Rhys. I didn’t even know her last name until an hour ago.”

Rhys’ hackles seemed to settle. “Really?”

Tim didn’t realise how hard he’d been clenching his jaw until he felt it ache. He took a long breath and tried to count backwards from twenty.

“This is ridiculous,” he said, when he’d gotten to fifteen. “I know what this is about.”

Rhys froze. “You do?”

“This is about you. This is about how you want to trap me here. You want me to be like you,” Tim said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tim laughed, short and bitter. “Don’t pretend. You’re married to this job and you think I should be, too. Well, I got bad news for you, Rhys. You can’t actually stop me from having a life.”

“What life?” Rhys asked. He returned his attention to his screens.

Tim resumed his backwards count. He let out a long breath. He walked slowly back to his desk, sat down, put on his gloves, and got to work.

* * *

Tim left for lunch. They’d normally get order in, but he’d offered to grab take-out. He needed to be outside for a while. The air up there was too thin.

He and Rhys barely spoke a handful of words to each other all fucking day. And when they did, they were both chillingly, icily polite. Rhys even said ‘please’, something he’d never, ever said to Tim before. It was the most petulant, childish thing he’d ever been party to since he and Jack stopped living together.

Tim sat down on the edge of the massive fountain in the building’s courtyard and tried to clear his head. Their lunch order sat beside him, where it would stay until he was good and ready. It was petty, but Tim was feeling petty.

He was feeling a lot of things, truth be told. The thought of going back to their—to _Rhys’_ office, knowing that they wouldn’t sit together today, made Tim’s chest constrict. It set his head on fire. He couldn’t tell if he wanted to make up or quit.

Janey and Athena had been right all along, goddamn them both. He’d gotten too involved. He’d let this thing get its claws in him, and now it wouldn’t easily budge.

Stupid, Timmy. Always so stupid.

This was just a job. Rhys was just a boss. Getting this upset over a little tiff was a waste of time.

Tim sighed. What life, indeed.

* * *

Tim: Hey.  
Tim: I’ve thought about what you said and you’re right.  
Janey: ??  
Tim: Set me up with one of your cute singles.  
Janey: !!!  
Janey: yes ofc!  
Janey: finally!!  
Janey: who do you want to see?  
Tim: I don’t care.  
Tim: The nicest one.  
Janey: i feel like ur heart isn’t in this  
Tim: The one you know best, then.  
Janey: hmm  
Janey: that’ll be marco  
Janey: he got out of a long relationship six months ago  
Janey: he’s stable and nice and ready to mingle ;)  
Tim: Great.  
Tim: Give him my number.  
Janey: ok  
Janey: u ok mate?  
Tim: I’m fantastic.

* * *

Tim could keep anger alive in his chest if he really wanted to, but it cost him more than he wanted to pay. And there was no point in hanging onto a grudge over a stupid argument. Rhys was just his boss. This was just a job.

And really, it’d been a long day. Tim rubbed his eyes while his desk powered down, screens fading like glow bugs dying out at the end of summer.

Rhys was still buried in violet light. It made the circles under his eyes more apparent; he’d probably rubbed off most of his make-up hours ago just from touching his face, massaging his temples, squeezing the bridge of his nose. A slow and careless process.

“Boss?” Tim approached his desk slowly, the way he used to when he first started. Like he was uncertain of his reception, afraid to catch a glimpse of the ground so far below out of those big windows.

Rhys didn’t raise his head. He glanced up from the screens.

“You planning on going home soon?” Tim asked.

Rhys didn’t answer him immediately. Tim had to remind himself that Rhys was a young man in a lot of ways, that he had untold stores of stamina, enough to keep a good grudge nursed for days. Months, maybe, if he put his mind to it. Tim had seen it in practise. He’d seen the cold way Rhys could carry out vengeance long after the initial crime had been committed against him.

He’d never thought he’d see it turned on him.

“Does it matter?” Rhys asked.

“Don’t be petulant,” Tim said.

The sky outside was lavender and pink, orange where the light was dying behind shadowed buildings. Spring was coming with its longer days, and he and Rhys had seen both sides of it today.

Rhys didn’t fire a return volley, like he might’ve any other time. His jaw worked a little, like he was chewing on his response. He returned his gaze to his screens.

Tim felt it like an ice cube dropped down his back. Like a needle under his skin.

“If you’re done, you can go,” Rhys said.

Tim was tempted. There was nothing stopping him from turning on his heel and walking out of there, and to hell with Rhys. If he wanted to work himself to death out of some weird grudge, who was Tim to stop him?

But for fuck’s sake. Tim was too old for this.

“You know,” Tim began, stepping more confidently around the curve of Rhys’ desk. “It occurs to me that I’ve been a little lax with my bodyguarding.”

Rhys turned his head, tried to keep Tim in his sights, but Tim slipped behind him, between his chair and the window.

“I haven’t escorted you home in a while.” Tim placed his hand on Rhys’ shoulder.

“I don’t need—” Rhys started, but his words died with a warning squeeze at the juncture of his neck. He sighed, and the tension drained from his shoulders.

“Fine.” He tapped a new command and the screens began to fade, one by one.

They didn’t talk in the elevator. They didn’t run into many employees. Anyone with any ounce of sense, or anyone with someone waiting for them, had gone home. Tim tried to recall the last time he had someone to meet at home.

“I’m sorry for upsetting you before,” Tim said, because he really was too old for this. Rhys stiffened. “I’m not sorry for giving you shit, because you _were_ being unreasonable, but I’m sorry the whole… married to the job thing. How you choose to live is none of my business.”

Rhys folded his arms. The elevator decelerated as they approached the parking garage.

“I wasn’t always like this,” Rhys said. Tim glanced at him. “I actually… I used to live my life.” He cleared his throat. “With someone else.”

“What happened?” Tim asked, before he could remind himself why it wasn’t a good idea to pry.

Rhys smiled without joy. The doors parted. “What always happens. She left me.”

* * *

Janey: i gave marco ur number  
Janey: if ur having second thoughts it’s too late!!  
Tim: Thank you.  
Janey: srsly r u ok?  
Tim: Yeah.  
Tim: Been a weird day.

The ellipses danced for quite a while. Tim sipped his bourbon, scratched Thing Two under his chin while he waited.

Janey: is this sudden change of heart b/c of ur weird boss?  
Janey: did smth happen?

Tim stared at his screen while he tried to think of an answer that wouldn’t incriminate himself. Thing Two purred noisily, pushed his face against Tim’s phone, and tried to crawl onto Tim’s lap.

Tim: Nothing major.  
Tim: I guess your persistence just finally paid off.  
Janey: hmmm  
Janey: i doubt it  
Janey: but…….  
Janey: i won’t push  
Janey: u know u can always talk to me tho

Tim finished his drink.

Tim: I’m fine.  
Tim: But thank you.

“I’m fine.” Tim let his head fall back against his couch. Thing Two began kneading painfully into his jeans. “I should put that on my business cards. Make it my epitaph. Stop that.”

Thing Two hissed, swatted, and then ran away with his ears plastered to his head. No doubt off to harass his brother. Tim sighed and stood up to pour himself another drink.

His phone chimed while he uncorked the bottle.

Rhys, Your Saviour: hey.  
Rhys, Your Saviour: i’m sorry too.

* * *

There was no Tamara waiting by the elevators when Tim got to work the next day.

He and Rhys didn’t talk about it. But they did eat lunch together.


End file.
